


Head on the Run Hand on the Mic

by Luci_Cunt



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Band Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, basically the monsters are fall out boy, because I'm a bitch for edgy lyrics and so are they DAMNIT, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-08-19 20:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20215540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luci_Cunt/pseuds/Luci_Cunt
Summary: Neil Josten is singing his last show tonight, he swears it.But when the guest band playing with him turns out to be a recruiter team, with Kevin Day leading them, he does the only thing he knows–Try running and then give into his obsession.Featuring altogether too much Fall Out Boy, a random Billie Eillish cover, and some horrible music taste from yours truly, I hope somebody enjoys XD





	1. I'm the Bad Guy

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyeeee it's ya girl, writing out a whole new fic even though she's elbow deep in a cannon rewrite. Don't worry!! I will finish that one, and hopefully this one, but I couldn't get this one out of my head. 
> 
> If you wanna, I made a playlist for this, and I'll probably keep adding to it but you can find it [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ip4DmrqyqsxzJHX41DBul?si=ma09V7EATT2W-_Wp09DVZw)
> 
> and the song that I described in this chapter is a cover of Billie Eillish's Bad Guy you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/3aEksQSW0NOaE4rEppNsPL?si=93NFLZVmSWW6xqzW9Hl5_w)

“This is annoying and I hate you,” Neil said, arms crossed and leaning against the side of the club so he could fix the full power of his glare on Jeremy, who winced slightly, but otherwise looked unfazed. 

“C’mon, I’m sorry, but boss says we have to bring in a new demographic,” Jeremy pleaded, he was smiling sheepishly, like he thought it was hilarious Neil was so against this. 

“Billie Eillish is seventeen, and her ‘_demographic_’ is _teenagers_ Jeremy,” Neil said flatly, still glaring. Jeremy shrugged. 

“So?”

“So? I sing for a 21 and over club, which you serve alcohol at.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. 

“The only reason you’re pretending to have some morals, _Josten,_ is because you don’t want to sing Billie Eillish,” he pointed a finger at Neil, wiggling it and throwing up his usual sunshine-y grin again. It was the one that made everyone’s knees and brains turn to putty that Jeremy could mold into whatever shape he wanted. The only thing it made Neil feel was confusion as to why Jeremy didn’t use it more often and annoyance when Jeremy thought it would work on Neil. “And I know you, Mr. ‘_I’m-definetly-21-I-swear-I-didn’t-just-make-this-ID-at-Kinko’s_’ are the last person who should be complaining about trying to drag in the adventurous minor or two,” he said smugly. It made Neil bristle. 

_Fuck you, Kinko’s is for cheapskates who want to get caught–_is what he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. “Picking on me for having a baby face is getting old Jerm,” Neil said instead, barely manage to keep his teeth from grinding. 

Jeremy held up his hands in surrender, but he was still grinning, “I’m not picking, just saying it how it is,” he said, eyes twinkling, and Neil rolled his eyes again.

_Neil Josten Neil Josten Neil Josten Neil Josten. _

Neil Josten wasn’t prideful, he wasn’t too snarky, and he wasn’t too much of anything. Neil Josten was the love child of vanilla and milktoast–forgettable. And, he wasn’t going to be staying long.

At least, that’s what Nathaniel kept telling himself. Every week he reminded himself that Neil Josten was just another pair of contacts to flush down the toilet and another ID to slice up with dull scissors and destroy the environment with. Neil was fleeting, he was temporary. 

But it had been two months of Neil telling himself one more week, just one more show, just one more song, just one more–

This time he was serious though, and his last song wasn’t going to be Billie Eillish anything. Not that he had anything against her, he just didn’t appreciate the techno, bass-too-loud-to-hear-the-lyrics style she occupied. 

Jeremy tended the bar at the club Neil Josten was haunting now. He was taller than Neil–though most people were–with a California tan and a smile that looked like the visual representation of a perfect harmony. His hair was dark, cut short but shaggy so it seemed careless, and he had bright blue eyes. He was also probably the closest thing Neil or even Nathaniel or any other name would ever get to a manager. He dealt with showtimes and scheduling and even tried to shove Neil into costumes once or twice. 

Those days had not ended well. 

They’d become closer than Neil wanted to admit, and he blamed it on the fact that in his tormented head, manager and dealer were the same thing. His drug of choice was just music. 

It was also why he was leaning against the club he was supposed to have a show in tonight, he could barely hear the booming music but the thumping of the heavy bass that beat like a second heart, pounding just out of his reach and wrapping him in instrumentals and an electronic sounding singer. Tonight was obviously themed in the hopes that Neil would be performing Eillish, since it had been annoying techno all night opposed to the usual alternative and rock that blasted the speaker each night, pouring into the street like the liquid from a glowstick. 

“Please Neil? For me?” Jeremy asked, Neil raised a brow and didn’t say anything. Eventually Jeremy sighed and his shoulders sagged. “Fine, whatever, guess I just have to spoil the surprise to get you to do it,” he said, dramatically morose and Neil rolled his eyes. “We got a band to play with you, a rock band, I knew you wouldn’t do it so I convinced the boss to let us fuck around a little bit,” he said, grinning as though pleased with himself. 

Fear and excitement crashed like symbols hooked to an amp in Neil’s chest and his lungs seized. Fear because he’d stayed too long, now Jeremy knew him, knew him. He’d definitely have to leave. He should leave now. He _should…_

But excitement pulsed through him, rushing in beat with the bass on the inside of the club as his mind clumsily ran through ideas of tune and rhythm and escape routes and running. 

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the building, and sighed. 

_Just one more. _

_You’re pathetic. _

_This time for real._

“Fine,” Neil said after a long pause, Jeremy’s grin turned back to 100 wattage and he pumped his fists excitedly. 

“Perfect, ok, let’s go, we have to get you dressed–” Jeremy said, grabbing Neil’s arm to drag him back into the club. Neil realized vaguely he wasn’t even aware of what it was called, just all the exits, and convenient hiding spots, and the fact that the dressing rooms had no windows.

“Jeremy I’m not–” he tried, but Jeremy either couldn’t, or wasn’t listening and he just kept dragging Neil through the crowd. They finally stopped outside the employee bathrooms, which Neil was grateful for, and Jeremy tried to shout something over the music unsuccessfully, but Neil took it to mean wait here and watched him disappear back into the crowd. 

After a few moments he returned holding a bag, he handed it off to Neil and then shoved him into the bathroom, the music muffled slightly. This one luckily did have a window, and the door locked. The window would be a tight fit but if Neil needed to he could make it work. It calmed him a little, to have an exit, even though he knew he wasn’t going to use it. 

He looked at the bag Jeremy had handed him, and then to Jeremy, eyes dark. 

“If this is anything like that fucking rhinestone–” he started, and Jeremy laughed, waving his hands to cut Neil off. 

“No, no no, don’t worry I’m not suicidal,” he said with a grin, “_That,_ my friend, is a gift from our guest band. They’ve got a dress code they aren’t confident you follow,” Jeremy explained. Neil glanced down at his outfit, a plain gray hoodie to fight of the ‘chilly’ winters of South Carolina, plain jeans, and a pair of beat up running shoes he’s been lying about replacing soon almost as much as he lied about leaving. 

Usually he changed into something a bit tighter, and more club friendly when he did shows, and usually he wore a mask. It was a plain grey one, just a cheap dollar store ‘mardi-gras’ mask Jeremy had gotten him and what had convinced Neil to start singing for the club. It wasn’t much, but it helped to pretend Neil was doing _something_ to hide his identity. 

“Are you just going to stare at it or are you going to open it?” Jeremy asked, startling Neil out of his thoughts. “And don’t worry, I grabbed your mask, it’s on top, you left it on the bar last night,” he added with a wink. Neil gave him a small smile and then set the bag on the sink of the bathroom to start digging through it. 

His first impression was that everything was black, and made out of a clingy feeling material that was already making Neil’s stomach roll. He pulled a shirt out first, long sleeved with tears meant to show the barest peeks of skin. Neil dropped it immediately, hugging his hoodie tighter to him. 

“No.” he said.

“There’s more,” Jeremy said gently, and Neil dragged a hand through his hair with a sigh, but pushed aside the shirt to dig through the rest of the bag. There was a pair of jeans–holes in the knees despite the fact that they felt brand new–a pair of thick black boots and, surprisingly, an undershirt.

“Who am I singing with tonight?” Neil asked, glancing over to Jeremy with his brows furrowed. Jeremy grinned. 

“Not telling,” he said.

“Jeremy–”

“Nope!” he said, shaking his head, “Nope nope, there’s got to be some kind of surprise, and don’t worry, you’ll like them,” he added with a wink that didn’t convince Neil. He just sighed though and looked back to the clothes. “Alright, I’m giving you ten minutes to get dressed, if you’re not out by then I’m busting in, ok? You’re not running tonight,” Jeremy said, pushing the door open and letting the music flood back in. It closed behind him, cutting off the loud sound and Neil closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool sink. 

“Fuck,” he whispered softly. _Sorry Jer, this’ll be Neil’s last appearance–ever. _

He got dressed in five minutes, finding the clothes tight but surprisingly comfortable, he was mostly just glad they were light enough that he wouldn’t be soaking in sweat by the time he got two songs in. 

With twenty minutes to showtime Jeremy herded Neil into the office above the bar and played a demo version of what the band would sound like tonight. It flooded Neil with exhilaration again, his fingers tapping out the melody and his chest humming out the lyrics, working out any kinks and a final rhythm. He made Jeremy play the song over and over and over again until Neil was sure he could sing in backwards and being drowned. 

He’d found that he had a talent for picking up and memorizing music after he realized he also had one for learning languages. When on the run, with his mother, they’d been forced to immerse themselves in new places, having to pick up the languages well enough to fit in fast. To Neil, music was just another language. But no amount of fluent french gave Neil the same rush a chorus rolling off your tongue to a perfect cacophony of instruments could. 

Time passed like a bike down a hill, and Neil didn’t want to try the broken brakes. He was practically buzzing with excitement by the time Jeremy lead him to the stage. He’d explained the club wanted the band playing with Neil to be some big reveal, so they’d stay behind closed curtains while Neil sang the opening bits, and when the song picked up they’d rise the curtains dramatically. 

Neil couldn’t care less, he just couldn’t wait to be out in front of the crowd with a microphone in his hand and his voice surrounding him.

Jeremy introduced him, like he always did, and then Neil took his place on the stage, sure he’d been here so much his shoes had worn part of the stage away. His mask on, outfit uncomfortable but forgotten in the haze, and crowd screaming so loud it made his throat ache– 

Neil grinned.

His heart pounded wildly as the opening chords of a bass guitar beat out the main rhythm. It was fast, erratic like Neil’s heart and Neil counted himself in and then the words wanted to crash out of his mouth. He forced himself to let them out haltingly though, starting off similar to Billie.

_White shirt, now red my bloo–dy nose, _

_Sleep–in, you’re on your tippy toes, _

_Creep–in around like no one knows,_

_You think you’re so crim–in–al_

Drums kicked in and Neil heard the swell of cheers as the curtains probably opened behind him and orange lights flashed everywhere, but Neil didn’t notice, too high off the sound of _everything. _

_I'm that bad type_

_Make your mama sad type_

_Make your girlfriend mad tight_

_Might seduce your dad type_

_I'm the bad guy, duh_

The band picked up, another guitar weaving its way through the steady drums and bass. Between the crowd and the band behind him Neil had to raise his voice, almost to a shout, and he_ loved_ it. 

The ending of the song was a crash, the guitar and drums leaving behind the bass line to temp the amp into blowing out and Neil was forced to follow, just barely on the edge between screaming and singing as he finished out the song.

_I’m the bad guy._

The song cut off and the crowd _rioted._ Neil couldn’t keep the grin off his face and he turned around to see who’d been playing for him when–

Everything suddenly crashed around him and the floor dropped from beneath his feet. His eyes clashed with Andrew Minyard, glowering at him from behind his drum kit, and Neil didn’t even have to look over to know who’d been on the guitar. 

He turned and bolted. The mic landing on the floor and shrieking feedback that made the entire club groan and cover their ears. Neil was too busy vaulting off the stage and down into the audience. He shoved and pushed and fought his way through the crowd until he reached the emergency exit. He kicked it open nearly ate shit as he forgot about the half-step under the door. The boots he was wearing were heavier than his running shoes and he started compensating for it, but then–

_Wham._ It was like Neil had run into a brick wall and he collapsed, folding over on himself and wheezing for air as he clutched his stomach. By the time he was able to look up, all he saw was the blank face of Andrew Minyard, a bass guitar slung over his shoulders and and a glint in his eyes like he was deciding whether or not to bring the guitar down on Neil’s head. 

“Jesus Christ Andrew!” Someone’s voice called from farther back the way Neil had come, and he didn’t risk taking his eyes off Andrew’s long enough to see who was coming up behind him. 

“Neil? Neil!” another voice called, this one Neil’s brain foggily recognized through the fuzz of _run run run run run_. And his head turned instinctively to spot Jeremy rushing over to his side. He snapped his eyes back to Andrew, as though the man could have done something in the split second Neil had looked away, but all he was doing was scanning Neil’s face. 

Neil’s gut dropped and his hand flew up to his face, relief poured through his as he realized he was still wearing the mask. 

“Christ, Neil are you ok? What the hell is wrong with you people?? Neil why the hell did you bolt off–?? What the _fuck_ is going on!?” Jeremy was demanding, looking between Neil and the other people standing in the alley. 

Neil conjured up a scowl that he fixed on Minyard.

“Ask them,” Neil hissed, voice sounding rough from the combination of singing and getting hit in the gut with a bass guitar. 

“Oh, no, ask the rabbit, he’s the one running right at the start of a show,” Minyard said flatly, and Neil spit at the ground beneath him. 

“Fuck off,” he growled, Minyard raised a brow. 

“Oh _wow,_ ok Kevin you might have been right about him,” said the voice from earlier, and it made Neil’s pulse spike, he whirled around, eyes catching on the two men standing behind him, Nicholas Hemmick, and Kevin. Day. 

Neil got up to run again, his stomach throbbed and his head was starting to hurt but he ignored it, shoving himself up to bolt again when Jeremy yanked him back suddenly and Neil realized he’s barely missed another swing from Minyard’s bass. 

“Leaving so soon?” Minyard taunted, it seemed eerie spoken without any emotion. 

“Yes. I am. You got a problem with that?” Neil asked through gritted teeth. Minyard’s mouth turned up in a cold smile. 

“Actually yeah, you’re not leaving until you hear him out,” Minyard said, pointing over Neil’s shoulder with the bass, holding it just this side of too close to Neil’s face. Neil suppressed a flinch, just keeping his eyes steadily glaring at Minyard.

“Spit it out then,” Neil demanded. He could feel Jeremy tense beside him, hands tightening where they hadn’t let go of Neil since pulling him out of range of Minyard. It wasn’t much range to begin with, the man looked barely five foot and the bass was almost the size of him. He had blond hair, dark clothes, and surprisingly strong looking build. 

“We want you to join us,” the voice of Kevin say said from behind Neil, and everything inside of him froze and caught fire at the same time. 

He caught Minyard smirking at the reaction, but Neil couldn’t get his tongue to work well enough for anything other than– “No.”

“No?” Nicholas and Jeremy said a the same time, both voices laced with disbelief.

“You will, we’re short a singer and–”

“I said _no,_ I’m not joining, you wasted your time coming here,” Neil interrupted Kevin, not willing to even entertain the idea of joining. Of signing with an actual label, or singing in front of bigger and bigger crowds on a stage that wasn’t slick and sticky with booze and too many other’s broken dreams sanding it rugged.

“No isn’t an option, rabbit,” Minyard said, the malicious glint in his eyes the only indication that Minyard was a live person and not just a corpse the others were puppeteering and using as a guard dog/ threat monger.

“I’ll make my own options, and mine is no,” he hissed back. He pivoted, so suddenly that it shook Jeremy off of him with a surprised yelp. But Neil was too busy glaring at Kevin Day, who was glaring right back. 

Kevin looked nothing and exactly like he had and suddenly Neil was 8 years old again, stuffed in a soundproof booth with Kevin on a classical piano and Riko belting through their warmups like he wanted his voice to snap. 

His face was sharper now, and the frown lines he’d started growing were now thick creases just under the same thick head of black hair and above bright green eyes. Now though, that number 2 wasn’t crayola or sharpie but needles and ink pressed over and over again into his cheekbone.

Neil swallowed the urge to run again and met Kevin’s dark eyes with his own. 

“Fuck off, I said no, I’m not joining your boyband, I don’t want to, and I’m not going to, you can go eat your–”

“Hey! The fuck are you hooligans doing?” The deep voice ripped through Neil’s spine. It shredded his confidence and he locked eyes with an older man stalking towards them. He had tribal looking tattoos on his arms and was wearing a light button up that was hanging unbuttoned over a wife-beater. He scowled at them as he walked over, while Nicholas grinned as he saw him approaching. 

“Coach! What took you so long?” he asked, and Neil realized the man must be David Wymack, vocal coach and musical instructor for all of the Palmetto Music label. “Maybe we should have invested in a walker, or one of those scooters?” Nicholas prattled, and Wymack shot him a scathing look that Neil had to fight not to flinch from. 

“I had to deal with the cops, thanks for that by the way kid, couldn’t you have waited to book it until _after_ the show?” Wymack said. Neil didn’t say anything.

“He’s saying no coach, I think Kevin’s going to cry,” Minyard said mockingly, Neil turned to scowl at him, glad for the distraction from Wymack, who was now sending his disproving glare at Minyard.

“Minyard quit being you for five seconds, you’re freaking him out,” Wymack snapped. Minyard laughed.

“One, two, three, four, five, don’t worry coach it’s too late for that,” he said, dropping the smile and going back to the blank apathy he’d been wearing. Wymack just sighed and then looked back to Neil, who’s skin itched under the man’s attention. 

“Listen, kid, we need another vocalist and Kevin thinks you’re our best bet. I won’t even make you sign with us for a few weeks, make sure you like it,” Wymack said, a little less gruffly than everything else and Neil blinked at him.

His blood was singing and his head was screaming. 

_Sing sing sing sing sing sing._

_Run run run run run run run._

He’d told himself he was leaving after today, that he’d never sing again, go back on the run and never look back. The thing with the club had been fun but it was stupid, reckless, and dangerous. It wasn’t tempting fate it was stabbing it with a stick.

_But he could sing. _

He was on a bus by the end of the week, Columbia, South Carolina the final destination, and an aching of regret and excitement rotting in his gut. 

Shit.


	2. You Were Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *****PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU READ THE CHAPTER !! (lmao otherwise the chap gonna be hella confusing)*******
> 
> Ok so an explaination– right now I've got a lot of shit going on, and my dumbass started too many things to actually juggle properly, and unfortunately, this fic got lost to the floor. And honestly, the only reason I wanted to write this whole thing was for this chapter, because I heard FOB's song [Church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3vbvF8bQfI) and thought, oh my god, imagine if this was what played when Neil was getting taken by Lola and Romero. 
> 
> So long story short, I wrote out a whole story plot for this fic, and I was really excited to do it, but I just don't have the time anymore, if you're interested maybe hit me up and I'll send you my crazy intense outline for this because I was really excited about it and I still really want it to be a thing. 
> 
> That all basically means, this chapter is the scene where Neil gets nabbed by Lola and Romero, but if it was rock instead of exy, and also played to Church by FOB (trust me also, the chap will be way better if you listen to the song so you know what I'm describing)
> 
> Thank you all!! <333

The show ended with a bang, the crowd going wild and everyone on stage raging with adrenaline. Neil’s chest felt full to bursting and there was something caught in his throat, choking him and making it impossible to do anything but smile and try not to make it look as bittersweet as it felt. 

The others cheered on the stage, and Neil turned back to Andrew, meeting his eyes through the excitement. He tapped his fingers to his temple in a mimicry of his signature mocking salute, before he turned back to the stage, Kevin coming to stand beside him with his face twisted like he was about to throw up. Neil sucked in a breath and brought the mic back to his lips, the crowd quieting, leaning forward to hang on his every word. 

“Tonight Kevin and I want to show you something we’ve been working on, we’re pretty excited about it, and it’ll be the first time anyone besides us has heard it, hope you enjoy–” he said, voice feeling shaky and he wished for Nicky’s blind confidence while addressing a crowd. The audience erupted in cheers despite his nervousness, but Neil only turned back, looking at his band mates one last time as Kevin moved to sit behind the organ set up on stage.

He could have sworn he heard bells tolling with Kevin’s organ music in the distance, just over the noise of the crowd. Warning and warning and warning as he began to sing, barely hearing Kevin’s backup.

_If you were church, I'd get on my knees_

_Confess my love, I'd know where to be_

_My sanctuary, you're holy to me_

_If you were church, I’d get on my knees. _

_I’d get on my knees._

Andrew’s drums slammed into his lyrics, crashing through the rugged words ripped straight from Neil’s soul and twisting around them until he was sure he’d choke. But the lyrics kept spilling out, the drums kept playing, and bells and the sound of a choir, singing about Neil’s soon death just kept on blasting. 

_Andrew hadn’t heard the song, ever, but somehow, the drums were exactly how Neil had dreamed they’d be. _

_And take the pain_

_Make it billboard big then swallow it for me_

_Time-capsule for the future_

_Trust me, that's what I want to be_

_Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love_

_You were doomed but just enough_

He realized suddenly that Nicky had joined them, his guitar spitting out flourishes like gold lace on the bottom of a silk gown. It made emotions fill his chest to the brim, and it all spilled out into his singing. He let it, for once, going all the way and allowing himself to be completely lost to the song. 

_I love the world but I just don't love the way it makes me feel_

_Got a few more great friends_

_And I wish it was hard to know what's real_

_And if death is the last appointment_

_Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room_

_I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom_

The bells were almost deafening now, and Neil couldn’t tell if they were real or not, Kevin and Andrew were competing to see who would destroy the amp first so Neil joined them, raising his voice and daring it to crack before the speakers. In the first drafts of the song, Kevin had urged him to end it quietly, to whisper the final lines as though making a private confession. 

But now, Neil didn’t want to be quiet. He wanted for once everyone to feel everything he was feeling, even just for this moment. Let this be what people remembered of him, let this be Neil Josten. Let Neil be Neil Josten. 

_My sanctuary, you're, you're holy to me, you're holy to me_

_If you were church, yeah, I'd get on my knees, yeah_

The song cut off and the entire stadium was silent. Neil was panting and it was the only sound until everything exploded and the crowd screamed so loudly Neil was sure his eardrums had blown out. 

He felt shaky, resigned, and high on the energy crackling like electricity through the room and licking at his heels. He turned to the band, Kevin still looked like he was trying to shatter his teeth by clenching them, Nicky was close to tears and Matt faired about the same. They both ran over and engulfed Neil in a bone crushing hug, screaming things that were lost to the crowds cheering. 

But Neil only had eyes for Andrew, who sat still and silent behind his drum kit. His eyes were narrowed just barely, and Neil smiled sadly. 

_Thank you, you were amazing._ He mouthed over Matt’s shoulder, he meant it about the drumming, and the safety, and everything. He meant it about everything. 

Andrew stood up like he was going to pressure Neil for an explanation, but suddenly a bottle flew out of the crowd and crashed onto the stage by where Dan, Allison, and Renee were sitting, shellshocked behind the curtain where Matt had been. They jumped into action at the bottle though, and when Neil turned around he saw fans throwing aside boundaries and climbing up onto the stage. 

Security tried to shove them down but there were too many and they crashed against the meek attempts to stop them like rocks against a river. 

Hands grabbed Neil, ushering him and the rest of his bandmates off the stage and into the safety of backstage, but they didn’t stop shoving Neil there. The hands grew tighter, rougher, reminding him to keep moving and keep silent and when Neil looked over his shoulder, Jackson Plank was smiling down at him, nodding his head towards where Romero Malcolm stood, gun obvious on his belt, right next to his bandmates.

**Author's Note:**

> ayeeeee, writing amiright? XXDD lemme know what you think!! I LOVE feedback! or even you just popping in, that's sick too <33
> 
> And btw I'm sorry I know nothing about music so I'm just pulling stuff out of my ass and if it's really obvious i'm sorry XDD
> 
> Got a question? Notice a typo? Wanna scream about AFtG? Hit me up on Tumblr @Luci-Cunt I don't sleep XDD


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